


Faulty Arrow

by suntokki



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:32:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suntokki/pseuds/suntokki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cupid. The legendary god of love who set soul mates with a prick of his arrows. Elizabeta Héderváry knew of this myth. And she hated it so, so much. [OS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faulty Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> One 'swear' word in the very last sentence. Characters may seem OOC. Enjoy!

Cupid. The legendary god of love who set soul mates with a prick of his arrows. Elizabeta Héderváry knew of this myth. And she hated it so, so much. She'd often think of it throughout her various heartbreaks. What a cruel god Cupid was, to play with her feelings like that— to wreck her heart so many times. Or, perhaps he was kind to show her the pain of this world and eventually the one who could cure it all. 

*

Gilbert Beilschmidt. An ambitious man with hope in his eyes and passion in his heart. He and Elizabeta had an infamous ‘cat and dog’ relationship for years; many of their friends would encourage them to date, saying that they were a match made in heaven. It embarrassed them both, further provoking their awkward relationship. Elizabeta couldn’t deny her reluctant attraction to the Prussian but she knew she’d rather die than say it.

*

It was a warm summer day and the pair were walking alone in the park. Despite their actions, both were fairly good friends when the teasing of their friends ceased. Gilbert was the first to speak after a long pause.

“Liz, I need your help on something.”

Elizabeta was surprised, though pleasantly, as Gilbert could be prideful and refuse to rely on anyone. The thought that he trusted her enough to depend on her filled her with warm, fluttering butterflies.

“What is it?” She asked in what she hoped was a calm voice.

Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a habit he clung onto throughout the years. 

“You see, I sort of, have a.. crush. On this girl,” he said.

“Tell me about her.”

“Well, she’s kind, beautiful, smart, and,” he paused for a short laugh, "has a bad habit of carrying around a large metal tool for hitting things.. or people.” His eyes sparkled as he described this ‘mystery girl’. Elizabeta knew almost at once who he was talking about. Her. The ‘metal tool’ the girl carried was her trusty pan that she hit Gilbert countless times with. Not to be vain, but she was fairly nice-looking and was kind— to most everyone but Gil. She swallowed nervously and wondered briefly if her face was as red as it felt. 

“Gilbert,” she started, “I think you should tell her your feelings. So many times, I’ve lost the opportunity to tell someone special about mine— only to lose them to another person. I think regret is worse than rejection-- with regret, your mind will forever be full of 'what if's' and 'could be's'. Um, what I’m saying is, chase after her. Confess. Life is short, and love is fleeting. Do what you can,” she smiled, “You may regret it if you don’t.” Her experience shone through her eyes and for the first time, Gilbert realized exactly how many people must’ve hurt her. 

*

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Elizabeta answering countless questions from Gilbert. 

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“Candles or fairy lights?”

“What setting should a romantic date be in?”

And such.

Finally, they said their farewells and they both went their separate ways. Later that night, as Elizabeta lay on her bed, she looked up at the ceiling, her face as red as a tomato. She couldn’t stop fidgeting, wondering if Gilbert was going to confess soon. Suddenly, her phone beeped and the screen lit up. She quickly unlocked the phone and checked where the notification had come from. Her messages. It was from Gilbert.

‘meet me at the park 8 pm tmw. it’s urgent k’

Her heart just about stopped. She let out a shriek much like a banshee’s and threw her phone across the room. 

Breathing heavily, she picked it back up and checked the message 12, no, 16, no, 20 times. 

 

He was going to confess tomorrow.

 

*

The next day, Elizabeta could hardly wait for 8:00 to come. She was nervous and fidgety all day, drawing strange looks from her friends. After what felt like an eternity, the time arrived.

 

She dressed in her best clothes and quickly headed over to the park. She dashed through the grass and between the trees to where she was positive Gilbert was waiting. The place they spent much of their childhood in. A little circular clearing in the small forest, where on the best nights, the moon would strike the exact center and stars littered the sky. Together, as children, they would hide here. It was sort of their secret, a special place they shared with no one.

As she suspected, he was there, waiting. Her favorite flowers were scattered all around the clearing and artificial candles provided a warm, flickering light. He saw her and his eyes lit up. 

“Sorry about the fake candles,” he called, “I was afraid I’d burn the forest down.” His obnoxious laugh filled the clearing and Elizabeta couldn’t help but grin as well. She walked over to where he stood, in the very center of the clearing. They sat on the grass for a bit, talking and laughing together. 

Suddenly, the leaves to Elizabeta’s right rustled and she jumped to her feet, startled. Gilbert’s eyes filled with panic and he also stood up (more like stumbled). He quickly shooed her away, but not before whispering a hasty, “Wish me luck!” Elizabeta was utterly confused, _What was going on?_

 

A familiar figure walked into the glade. It was Anya Braginsky, the tall Russian girl who had recently moved into the neighborhood. She was often considered a beauty, she was fairly kind, albeit intimidating, and she _always_ carried around a metal shovel. Her platinum blond hair rippled and she stopped in front of Gilbert, setting down the tip of her shovel with a soft thud. 

“Yes, Gilbert?” She said with a thick Russian accent, “You called me here. Why?”

Meanwhile, Elizabeta stared, shocked, behind a large rock at the edge of the dell. ‘What’s happening?’

Gilbert cleared his throat, and Elizabeta could see a surge of confidence go through him. “I would like to tell you something. Something I’ve been hiding for a while.”

  _No, no, no. This isn't right._

_ I’ve always wanted to tell you something. Something I hid from plain sight. _

 

“Ever since the day we first met..”

_ Ever since I met you.. _

 

“You caught my eye. You were beautiful, kind, bright, and your smile could light up the whole world.”

_ You stood out. You were strong, brave, idiotic, and your eyes held so much spirit and enthusiasm. _

 

“You were a sunflower in a field of daisies.”

_ You were a lantern in my otherwise dark life. _

 

“And, Anya Braginsky, I’m telling you this because ‘life is short and love is fleeting’.”

_ And, Gilbert Beilschmidt, I wish I could tell you all this because ‘life is short and love is fleeting’. _

 

“I love you, Anya. You brought out the best in me and I love you with all my heart. I-I promise to cherish you forever, be there for you whenever, and never, ever leave you. Will you go out with me?”

_ I love you, Gilbert. My idiot. You’ve made me out to be a fool, playing with my heart and throwing it away. I would never have left you, but now, I realize that I have to. Why, Gilbert? Why not me? _

 

Elizabeta choked on her sobs and furiously wiped away her tears. Her breath was shallow and uneven and her head felt like it was splitting open. Regardless, she watched the scene unfold in front of her with a blurry vision. If Gilbert broke her heart, what she heard next shattered it. 

 

Anya’s hand tightened on her shovel handle and looked into Gilbert’s eyes. 

 

"Yes.”

 

Extra:

 

Cupid. The legendary god of love who set soul mates with a prick of his arrows. Elizabeta Héderváry knew of this myth. And she hated it so, so much. Because sometimes, Cupid misses. Sometimes, he makes a mistake. Sometimes, he only has an odd number of arrows left. 

And sometimes, his arrows are faulty.

 

‘Match made in heaven, my ass.'

 


End file.
